Too Strong
by KissHerJack
Summary: Sam is too strong to let the enemy take over her mind, but she’s not strong enough to do it alone Spoilers for Threads, Moebius, and possibly season 9
1. Default Chapter

Title: Too Strong

Author: Gail R. Delaney Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance

Pairing: Jack/Sam – you see some Sam/Pete and Jack/Kerry but I don't count them as pairings because as far as I'm concerned, Pete and Kerry don't 'count'

Rating: 3 – for some language (scale 1-5)

Length: moderate

Spoilers: Up through end of Season 8

Timeline: Immediately after Reckoning, but just before Threads – for the most part – some after Threads/Moebius – some 'later'

Synopsis: Sam is too strong to let the enemy take over her mind, but she's not strong enough to do it alone

Reasonings and Thoughts: I am doing this story for a couple of reasons. And here in lies some SPOILERS for Threads and beyond… In Threads, we only see one instance that Kerry actually witnesses Jack and Sam together. In that one scene, I don't feel there was enough for her to 'see' the truth between them. So, I'm creating a little back story. I also want some more build up to Threads, some more 'things' that make them really see that it's time to give up the 'bull' and accept the truth. They are who they are and they are meant for each other. That and I felt like doing some major angst . . . oh, and this was a dream I had and it all kinda worked in.

Archive: http:outoftheroom. (not there yes as of this posting) Helio2, Gateworld, SJD, SJfic, . . . if you'd like to post it somewhere else, just let me know. I'm sure I'll say yes, just want to know where.

Feedback: YES!

Disclaimer: I make no money for this. Wish I did.. but oh, well. No copyright infringement intended.

Special Thanks: Forever and always, to my amazing Beta Jenifer – who inspires me with her begging for MORE as much as she helps me with her helpful editing work. Thanks so much, hun!


	2. Part 1

Too Strong Part 1 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill pulled his truck into his parking space outside Cheyenne Mountain in the wee hours of the morning, well before sane people even entertained thoughts of getting out of their warm beds or turning on their coffee makers. But here he was, again. He had a report due to Hammond by 1300 hours, and after the computer glitch the day before, he was behind.

Still more asleep than awake, he took his coffee from the plastic holder on his dash and stepped out of the truck. The guard at the first checkpoint greeted him with a smile and a 'good morning', which Jack did his best to return, but the caffeine just hadn't kicked in and to speak was more than he was capable of quite yet.

He sipped from the hot brew in the first elevator, letting the steam and aroma seep through the tiny holes in the top of the cup to reach his nose. It chiseled away at the fog. Not a lot, but some.

Check point number two, the guard looked as tired as he felt. They nodded sympathetically at each other before Jack boarded the second elevator that would take him past the NORAD levels to the SGC. As the car descended to sub level 27, he leaned into the wall and let his head rest back, the leather of his jacket squeaking with his movement.

_Please let this be a quiet day. No apocalyptic revelations. No freaky malfunctions. No mess hall screw ups. Just . . . _

The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened to reveal Walter standing in the wait, his round face wrinkled in tight concern.

_So much for that . . ._

"Walter, it is 0415. What could have _possibly _gone wrong already?"

"Colonel Carter came in hot twelve minutes ago with SG's 3 and 5 under heavy Kull Warrior fire."

"Wounded?"

"Four. They're in the infirmary now."

Jack stepped back into the elevator and Walter followed, the doors closing behind him as Jack jabbed 21 with his thumb. The coffee that had been his morning nectar moments before now burned and churned in his gut. The elevator moved excruciatingly slow now.

"Dead?" he finally asked.

"One, sir."

"Who?" _Please . . ._

"Lieutenant McElvoy of SG-5, Sir. Major Riggs of SG-5 and Lieutenant Tannen of SG-3 are both seriously injured. Major Patenski and Colonel Carter sustained less severe injuries."

Jack carefully schooled his expression to reveal nothing, but he slipped his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and fisted his fingers until his knuckles ached. The elevator finally bumped to a halt and the doors opened. Jack managed to keep himself in check and not leap the jamb as he handing his coffee off to Walter.

The infirmary was a frenzy of activity as Dr. Brightman and several of her staff worked feverishly on the bloody and still forms of Riggs and Tannen. The masks on the staff's faces muffled their voices, and their commands barely carried over the din of beeping machinery and clashing equipment.

Jack stood for several minutes, holding his breath as he watched the doctor work. He hated this . . . waiting and wondering if everyone would come out in one piece. And if not in one piece, at least alive. He wanted to demand their status, but knew asking questions right now would just put him in the way.

"Carter . . ."

"This way, Sir," Walter said, walking towards a quieter corner of the infirmary away from the working doctor.

Patenski was either asleep or unconscious on one of the beds as a nurse injected his IV with a syringe. Another nurse stepped around the foot of his bed and yanked away the white curtain that separated his bed from the next. Jack's heart clenched in his chest as he caught sight of Sam easing the hem of a clean shirt over the waist of her BDU's.

Her hair was mussed, and soot smudged her cheek. A large white bandaged wrapped her forearm, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her shirt. Another bandage, already streaked pink from the wound beneath, ran along her brow line partially hidden by her hair.

"Get me a status report as soon as you can," Jack said in a low voice, and Walter nodded, disappearing in the opposite direction.

Sam looked up and their gazes connected. Jack drew a slow breath in through his nose, squaring his shoulders, and walked to her.

"Carter . . . " he said with a lilt as he reached her. "What did I say about getting shot at while off world?"

She shifted on the bed edge, her movements stiff and hesitant. "Someone forgot to send your memo to the enemy, Sir."

Jack attempted a smile and pushed his hands deeper into his jeans pockets. He hitched his chin in her direction. "You okay?"

Sam nodded and inched her feet towards the ground. Jack quickly yanked his hands from his pockets and helped her down. He put his arm around her waist and supported her hand with the other as she stood. She winced, and quickly buried the cringe behind an expressionless façade.

_Good soldier, right?_

"I see the obvious. What do I not see?"

Sam straightened with a slow release of air, but she didn't let go of his hand and he didn't move his arm. "Nothing bad."

"Carter. . ."

She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I bruised my right leg from knee to hip falling on the Gate stairs, and almost cracked a rib or two. That's all. Nothing compared to everyone else."

He watched her for a moment, and saw behind her eyes the same warring emotions he had dealt with for years. The guilt of being in command when things go in the crapper, especially when someone dies. Nine times out of ten, there was nothing you could do about it but that doesn't make the weight on your shoulders any lighter.

Jack ran his hand up her back and down again before stepping away and resuming his fist-in-pocket pose again. A stance more easily maneuvered in BDU's, but since he hadn't exactly gotten a chance to change yet . . .

"What happened?"

Sam shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down. "I'm not sure, Sir. I'm trying to get it all clear in my head, but the pounding isn't helping."

"Okay. Go get cleaned up. Get some chow and some rest. Well talk later."

Sam watched Jack pause at the door of the infirmary and talk with Walter and Doctor Brightman. She looked to the now quiet forms of her men. They all made it – except for McElvoy.

_Thank God_

She tried to remember what happened. They were investigating the planet, seeking a possible encampment of rebel Jaffa. Sam remembered cresting a hill and seeing the tents in the valley below. A tingling pain slithered up her spine and spread over the back of her skull like acid in her veins, and Sam closed her eyes against it. Then the smell of burning flesh and the sound of screaming men filled her memories. They were running back to the Gate. Kull warriors pursued them through the trees. Sam dragged Tannen beside her . . .

_His fault . . . He knew . . ._

The voice whispered like the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, and Sam's eyes snapped open again. She searched the room, finding Jack still near the door. He looked up and their gazes held, a small reassuring smile tipped one corner of his lips.

The burn eased and the hiss silenced. Sam swallowed against the dry desert in her throat and headed for the showers.


	3. Part 2

Too Strong Part 2 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"You seem very distracted tonight."

Jack looked up from the plate of take-out Chinese in front of him, his fork twisted in the soft chow mein noodles, to focus on Kerry sitting beside him.

"Sorry. Long day."

"Wanna talk about it? Or is it stuff that requires higher clearance than I have?"

He shook his head. "Been up since 0300 hours."

She smiled, and sipped her Merlot. "Do you ever forget you're military?"

Jack let his arm relax, the side of his fork clicking on the edge of the plate. He stared at the redheaded woman who had so recently infiltrated his life, so quickly that some days he swore he couldn't remember how or when it happened. One day he was swapping omelet recipes with Carter, and the next he was sharing his bed – one that had been empty for more years than he liked to think about – with a woman nearly half his age.

_What the hell are you doing, O'Neill?_

"No," was his simple answer.

Kerry daintily cut up her sweet and sour chicken, lifting a piece to her mouth with the fork held upside down. Jack had a passing memory of sharing a similar meal with the Gang in the past. Chinese food was never eaten at the table or dished out on stoneware plates. It was eaten in the living room while watching the game – whatever 'game' was applicable to 'the season'. Usually, Jack claimed his favorite corner of the couch and Sam – more often than not – sat on the floor near his feet and used the couch as her backrest. In stocking feet, her legs crossed Indian style, she'd eat her Eggs Foo Yong from the carton and occasionally twist around to steal a bite of his Chow Mein. Daniel sampled a little bit from every container, usually opting for a paper plate from the pantry closet and T' stuck to the Pork Fried Rice. With lots of Soy Sauce. Lots and lots of Soy Sauce.

"I heard some SG teams came in under fire this morning."

Jack blinked, forcing himself once again to focus on the conversation – and company – at hand. "Yeah."

"You lost one."

"Yeah."

"Is that what has you so quiet?"

Jack abandoned the food, setting his fork down and pushing the food away. "Sorry. Long day."

Kerry swirled the wine in her glass, staring at him over the rim. Then she sighed and set the stemware down. "Yeah, you mentioned that."

"You're distracted tonight."

Sam looked away from the television screen and the movie she hadn't really been watching, and focused on Pete. "What?"

He chuckled and smiled. "That's pretty much been the answer to every question I've asked you tonight. What's on your mind, Sam?"

She shook her head and slipped her thumbnail between her lower front teeth, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch. "Sorry. Long day."

"How are you feeling? I mean, I know you can't tell me _how_ you got the crap knocked out of you . . . but . . . you are okay, aren't you?"

Sam nodded and shifted, immediately regretting it as pain shot down her leg. "I'll be fine in a day or two. I'm a fast healer."

"Can I get you anything?"

The phone ran beside him as he asked, and Sam nodded towards it. "You could get me the phone."

"Cute," he said, picking it up. "Hello." He paused, and Sam saw a familiar shadow pass over Pete's features. Without asking, she knew who it was. Pete handed the phone to her.

"Hello . . ."

"Hey, Carter."

"Hello, Sir. Is something wrong?"

"No." Jack's voice came emphatically over the line. "I just called to see how you were feeling. You doing okay?"

"Just sore, Sir. Nothing I can't handle."

"You need a day or two? To rest up."

"No." This time Sam realized it was her turn to sound overly emphatic. She cleared her throat and glanced at Pete, who was doing his best to appear like he wasn't listening to the conversation. "No, that won't be necessary, Sir."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good enough. I'll see you in the morning."

"Sir?" she said quickly before he had a chance to hang up.

"Yeah . . ."

"No word yet?"

There was a pause before he spoke, and that was all the answer Sam needed. "No. Not yet. The moment I know anything about Daniel, you're my first call. No matter the hour."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Night, Carter."

Sam turned off the phone and set it on the couch cushion beside her. The same burning pain she had felt in the infirmary worked its way up the back of her skull, coursing through her veins and capillaries until it capped her head and made her eyes burn. She pressed her lids shut and ground her teeth against it.

_Do what needs to be done . . . do it before it's too late . . . DO IT!_

"Sam?"

"What?"

Pete shook his head. "Nothing . . ." and stood up to head for the kitchen.


	4. Part 3

Too Strong Part 3 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Sam woke with a start, her head coming up off her folded arms as she tried to reorientate herself with her surroundings. Her lab was almost completely dark, except for the soft glow given off by the various indicator lights and strobes on her equipment.

She pushed up her sleeve and twisted her watch to look at the face. 0216 hours.

_Damn!_

She didn't even remember what she had been doing. Sam blinked, trying to focus on the day. Wait. . . wasn't today Saturday? Why was she even on base?

Sam realized then that she had a small, red handled screwdriver held tightly in the grip of her left hand. She opened her fingers and stared at it, feeling very much like she had never seen such a thing before. _What is going on?_

She set the tool down and stood off the high stool she had been perched on. How she had managed not to keel over and crack her head open, she didn't know. Sam looked around her lab. There was nothing on the table to indicate what she had been working on . . . no notes, the computer wasn't on.

_What the hell?_

She shook her head and stepped backwards towards the door. Better get out as stealthfully as she could. If anyone saw her and told the General she was here this late, she'd get an earful on Monday about not having a life.

That and he'd want to know what was so important to drag her back to the base in the wee hours of a Sunday morning.

And since she didn't know, that posed a bit of a problem . . .

"Sergeant Siler has been working on the stock elevator since early this morning. He hasn't determined what caused the short, but is positive he'll have it up and running by 1630, General."

Jack nodded, looking down at the report in front of him. "Good. The guys upstairs are complaining about our supplies taking up to much space. What about the refrigerators in the Mess?"

Walter shook his head, taking from Jack the report he had just signed. "Two are running normally again. Two are running warm, and two are freezing everything."

"What the hell . . ." Jack mumbled, rubbing a hand across his hair.

A shuttering clank rumbled through the air vents overhead, and both Jack and Walter turned their faces to the ceiling. The vent whispered and hissed, and steaming air curling into his office.

"Ah, for cryin' out loud! Walter, go "

"Get Sergeant Siler on it. Right away, General."

As Walter left, Jack shouted after him "I told you to stop doing that!"

Ten minutes later, Jack switched his computer to stand by and rose from his chair to move to the Briefing Room for his meeting with Carter and Teal'c, and the remaining healthy members of SG's three and five. As he rose, a bead of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades and he glared up at the offending air vent.

The air in the briefing room was no cooler, and he shrugged apologetically as his people took their seats at the table. "Siler is on it," he said in explanation.

Sam sat down beside him, her cheeks flushed red and the hairs along the nap of her neck dark with perspiration. Jack walked back to the low table that sat outside his office and retrieved the pitcher of water and glasses that always just seemed to _be_ there before these meetings, bringing them back with them.

"Considering the heat in here, everyone feel free to . . ." He rolled his hand in the air in the general direction of everyone seated. "Get more comfortable."

Sam was the first to sigh in relief and shrug off her green BDU jacket, revealing the sleeveless tank beneath. Jack sat down and poured a glass of water and slid it towards her across the smooth tabletop, then did the same for Hastings sitting on his other side – just to be polite. Then he pushed the pitcher and glasses away and they were passed around the table to everyone present.

"So, let's talk . . ."

The air vents shuttered and banged overhead, and everyone in attendance collectively looked up. Jack heard a muffled _poof_ sound, and seconds later the room was filled with the vilest stench he had smelled since their nightmare stay on Netu.

Sam's face twisted into an expression that fit Jack's opinion of the situation, and she covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh, god . . ."

Major Wong picked up his report folder, waving it in front of his face. "Is that a stink bomb?"

"What, are we back in high school?" Jack cursed, standing with such force his chair rolled back and crashed against the wall behind him. "Walter!"

Sam huffed a breath up her face, trying desperately to cool her skin from the sweltering heat that permeated the air in her lab. The small fan that sat on her desk did little to cool her, succeeding only in stirring the heavy air rather than actually providing relief.

She tried to focus on the scan report in front of her, red and blue lines paralleling each other in peaks and valleys with gamma and alpha readouts that meant little more to her right now than quantum physics would to a nursery school student. The niggling sensation that she was supposed to be doing something else - going somewhere - seeing to something important - tickled at the back of her mind. Her stomach twisted and knotted with the anxiety of something forgotten.

"Everything okay, Carter?"

Sam jumped and looked over her shoulder. Jack stood in the open doorway, the light from the hall glowing behind him to shadow his face and outline his form. His shoulder was against the jamb and his hands were pushed into his pockets.

_You know what you have to do . . ._

Acid burned up her spine, hitting the base of her skull, leaving an alkaline tang in the back of her throat. Sam swallowed and slowly blinked her eyes, trying to push aside the dark thoughts that had grown more and more frequent in the past hours and days. The slithering voices were worse when she was tired, or when her mind wandered too far from a clear point of concentration, but as time went on they grew more and more persistent.

She wondered how long she could go without saying anything . . . and wondered if she were going insane.

"I'm fine, Sir. Just "

"Hot."

"Sir?"

"It's hot in here." He stood away from the jamb, and as he stepped out of the circle of lights, she saw he wore a black tee shirt that accentuated the refined muscles of his biceps and triceps, and as he shifted his fingers within the confines of his pockets, the tendons and chiseled angles shifted with each movement.

"It's hot everywhere, Sir."

He reached the table where she sat, and his hand left its restrictive pocket to pick up a pen and turn it end over end, bouncing it off her notes. If he couldn't get his hands on a doohickey, a pen would do.

"Did you need something, Sir?"

"Nah. Just . . . checking in."

The air vent rattled and clanked, and Sam braced herself - considering the option of holding her breath. The last time she had heard that noise, the most God-awful stench had filled the briefing room. Instead, the ambient temperature in the room instantly cooled and she sighed.

"Oh, thank God."

"Thank Siler . . ." Jack amended, and Sam smiled.

She shifted her gaze from the gray air ducts overhead to Jack, and her breath caught in her throat when she found him watching her. His dark eyes were intent and unwavering on her face, and his hand had stilled in its fidgeting. Jack hitched up his chin, his lips parting for a moment in a sign she had long ago learned to recognize. He had something to say . . .

"So, everything _really_ okay, Carter?"

Sam shrugged, pressing her lips together with a slight arch of her eyebrows. "Sure. Great."

"You're feeling okay since PX4-133?"

She nodded again. "Yes."

His gaze shifted over her face, and Sam wondered if he knew. If he could possibly guess that right now a serpent whispered in her ear.

_He's the one . . . it's all his fault . . . he must die_

She swallowed hard, and fought the urge to press her eyes closed against the evil whispers. A shiver shot up her spine, and she couldn't stop the quake that moved through her body.

"Damn it," Jack muttered. "First it's sweltering, now it's the Arctic Tundra."

The fine sheen of sweat that had covered her skin moments before now felt like shards of ice frozen to her skin as the temperature in her lab dropped at an amazingly fast paced. She half expected to look up and see snowflakes escaping the air vent.

"This is insane. Damn gremlins in the works."

Another shiver shot through her, shaking her from the inside out, and Sam crossed her bare arms over her body. Jack looked around, and spotting her discarded BDU jacket, he retrieved it from the back of her desk chair and brought it back to her. As he draped it over her shoulders, Sam reached out her hand to pull it tighter and their fingers touched.

For just a moment, the slightest flash of an instant, the burning pain in her veins eased and she blinked against the relief. Then Jack pulled back and headed for the door, mumbling to himself about never feeding Walter again after midnight.

Sam watched him go, and as he disappeared through the doorway, a thundering pain shot through her temples making her cry out and clutch her head.

_HE MUST DIE!_

Doctor Brightman sat in her office, the latest lab reports from SG's three, and five stacked in front of her. She had already gone over them twice, but focused again on the top page, preparing to go over them again.

This report in particular.

_Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter._

She had been in the Air Force long enough to know not to question the recommendation of her commanding officer, and she had been at the SGC long enough to know that if there was anyone here that knew Sam Carter better than she knew herself - it was General Jack O'Neill.

So, when he came to her two hours before and told her something was _off_ with the Colonel - and asked her to look into it - she wasn't about to refuse him.

Problem was, as of yet, she hadn't found a damn thing.

Beyond the obvious injuries that Colonel Carter had returned with, her physical had come back perfectly normal. Her CT scan was fine, her BP normal, her Pulse OX, respiration levels and heart rate perfectly acceptable considering the situation. Her tox-screen came back fine. No sign of anemia or any other deficiency, no excessive levels of adrenaline or hormones that would indicate stress. Red and white blood counts normal. No foreign chemicals in the blood, especially those they had begun scanning for in the last several years.

She shook her head.

_What did he expect her to find?_

She rested her temple against her curled fingers and scanned the numbers again. As she reached the bottom of the page, and the factor levels decreased, her breath caught.

Unknown factor: .002

She quickly flipped to Major Rigg's page, her eyes scanning to the bottom of the page.

Unknown factor: .0021

It was the same for three of the ten other SG members. Some unknown factor in their bloodstream that the infirmary's tox-screen could not readily identify. But with the percentage so low, the computer wouldn't send up a red flag.

Doctor Brightman shoved back from her desk and stood to her feet, rushing from the room to find General O'Neill.


	5. Part 4

Too Strong Part 4 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"Sabotage?"

Sergeant Siler shrugged and nodded. "Yes, Sir. Every case of system or equipment malfunction in the last twenty-four hours has been a direct result of sabotage."

Jack slammed his elbows on the briefing room table and roughly raked his hair with his fingers. "Anything serious?"

"No, Sir. Nothing that can't be fixed with some time. I'll have the air scrubbers and climate control systems back online within the next three or four hours. The stock elevator is already up and running again, and the refrigerators in the mess will be fixed shortly. For those, we needed some parts to be brought down. The equipment in the infirmary and Colonel Carter's laboratory will take a bit more time due to the highly specialized and technical nature, but "

"Carter's Lab? Infirmary? Has anything _else_ gone wrong I don't know about?

Siler cleared his throat and looked down at the report in front of him. "Um, no, Sir. I don't believe so."

"Okay, fine. Just . . . get on it, and report back to me when we're all set. Walter!"

Before the airman's name was off his lips, he appeared beside Jack. "Yes, sir?"

"Get me the Head of Security for the base, and the names of all the shift leaders for the last forty-eight hours. I want to see them here by 1430 hours."

"Yes, Sir."

Walter headed through Jack's office to the hall beyond, leaving Jack alone in the briefing room. He reclined his chair back. Letting his head rest on the smooth leather with his eyes momentarily closed. _Sabotage? What the hell? Who? How?_

"General O'Neill, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Jack looked up to Dr. Brightman. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"It's in regards to the matter you brought to my attention earlier."

He immediately stood and motioned towards his office. Doc Brightman preceded him inside and he shut the door behind them, crossing behind her to shut the other door. Jack didn't bother go behind his desk, instead he stood at the corner and tapped the wood with his fingertips.

"So . . . what're we talkin'?"

Doc Brightman sighed. "I wish I knew for sure, General. I went over the medical reports of all the returning SG members, and on a handful of them – Colonel Carter included – there is a trace unknown substance in their blood that as of right now I can't account for."

Jack squinted his eyes. "You don't know what it is?"

"No. I need to run further tests . . ."

"Ah, crap," Jack muttered under his breath. "I was hoping you'd say she was just . . . you know . . . tired, or somethin'."

"I suggest we bring her, and the other SG members, to the infirmary immediately."

Jack nodded, still fuming over the news. _Crap, crap, crap_ "I'll go with you."

Sam paced her lab from one end to the other, her hands twitching and fisting nervously at her side. Her skin crawled and her blood ran hot in her veins, as if part acid/part lava.

She couldn't think . . . couldn't concentrate. Her mind was a jumble of hissing voices and whispered secrets demanding her attention. Anxious knots twisted her stomach and made her insides quiver with nervous energy.

_It's going to happen . . . any second now . . . any moment. He'll be dead. Dead. DEAD!_

"No!" she shouted to the room.

No, he couldn't be. What was she doing?

The voices! The voices!

Sam dropped to a hunch on the floor, slapping the heel of her hands against her temples trying desperately to silence the maddening hoard in her mind. She rocked on the balls of her feet, curling in on her own body, begging for the screaming to stop.

_You did it! You did it! He's dead! He's dead! You killed him!_

"No!" she screamed to the silent room and lunged to her feet, sweeping her arms across the nearest table. Equipment and notes flew across the room, papers filling the air. "No! No!"

_Dead! Dead! Dead!_

Hundreds, thousands of hissing, slithering voices swirled and coiled around her. She felt the cold, clammy scales on her skin and she dug at her arms and neck with her nails. They crawled up her back, along her spine, into her hair – their forked tongues tickling her ears.

_Dead! Dead! Dead!_

Sam screamed.

The primal ferocity of the scream that echoed through the cement SGC walls momentarily froze Jack in his tracks, then propelled him forward. Never had he heard a sound like that, but he didn't have to see to know who it was.

_Sam . . ._

He grabbed the frame of the door, using it as leverage to fling his body around into the room, scanning the dim space for any sign of her. The lab was a wreck . . . papers and equipment scattered on the floor and across the table, some pieces beeping and buzzing in protest to their mistreatment.

Jack took another step in just as Doc Brightman's soft clicking heels reached the door.

"Carter?"

Then he heard it . . . a whimpered sob accompanied by a muffled thumping. Jack stepped cautiously around the side of her long table, and his chest seized. Sam was curled in the fetal position, lying on her side. Her fingers and arms were bloody from clawing at her own skin. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and the thumping sound was the steady rhythm she kept – banging her head against the cement floor.

Jack dropped to his knees beside her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to sit up. "Carter . . . Carter!"

Vacant eyes turned up to look at him, staring but not seeing. Jack couldn't breathe, squinting in the dim light of the room to try and see her. What the hell was going on? What had happened to her? What had she done to herself?

"You're dead . . . " she whispered, her voice raw and rough.

"No, Carter. I'm right here."

"We need to get her to the infirmary," Doc Brightman said from the doorway.

_No shit, Sherlock_

Sam's eyelids fluttered, and her eyes rolled back into her head so far the iris disappeared, showing only white. Her body slumped in his grip, and Jack shifted, bringing her against his chest.

"There's a gurney on the way . . . "

"Screw that."

He lifted her in his arms, and with her head resting over his heart, carried her from the room.


	6. Part 5

Too Strong Part 5 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Jack stood at the foot of Sam's bed, watching her fitful sleep. Even with the double dose of sedative and sleeping _stuff,_ she wasn't resting. Every few moments, mumbled words passed her lips so low he couldn't understand them and she would jerk against the restraints the doctor had applied.

Three hours. She had been like this for three hours. Jack ground his teeth together until pain shot from his jaw.

He knew something was wrong.

Why didn't he do something sooner?

Why did he listen when she told him nothing was wrong? This was Sam, for cryin' out loud? Since when would she actually _tell _him what was wrong without him pushing?

But he didn't want to push, didn't want to step on toes. Shanahan's toes. Why the hell didn't Shanahan notice? _Dumb ass bastard._

Jack walked along the side of the bed, taking in the details of what she had done to herself with just his gaze. Deep gauges marred her throat, neck, and arms, the worst now covered with white bandages. The Doc said she had a good lump on the side of her head from banging it on the floor, coupled with the injuries she had come home with just days before.

He looked down at her hands. Her wrists were wrapped in leather straps lined in fleece to protect her skin as much as possible, but he already saw a red rash spreading beneath the edges. Her hands were curled into tight fists, her knuckles white. With a quick glance around the room to see if any eyes were on him, Jack took a hand from his pocket and ran his fingers along her knuckles.

The skin along the back of her hand was smooth, belying the strength he knew those hands held, contrasting the abrasions she had inflicted along the knuckles. He ran his fingers along hers until he reached the underside of her fist, gently and carefully urging her grip to ease and release. She sighed in her sleep, a shudder moving through her entire body, and her hand opened over his.

Jack looked up to her face and she had turned towards him, her features slightly more relaxed than moments before. Finally, the sedatives had kicked in. He slipped his hand from beneath hers and rested it on top for a moment before putting it back in his pocket.

"I heard you were down here."

He turned to see Kerry standing a few feet from the end of the bed, her arms crossed over her body.

"Yeah," was all he could think to say, looking back to Sam's now calm features for a brief moment before walking past the end of her bed.

"I also heard there have been some concerns about security. Thought we should talk about it."

"Not now." He kept his voice low, but hoped his tone projected _there's not a chance in hell I'm leaving this room._

"Will there be a better time?"

"I need to be here right now."

Doc Brightman chose that opportunity to come over to them, a clipboard in hand and a troubled look on her face. "General, I think we've determined what the unknown element is. But I don't think you're going to like it."

"Go ahead."

"Well, as you know . . . four years ago, the Tok'ra were able to isolate a certain chemical compound related to the Za'tarc mind control used by the Goa'uld, and since then we have tested for this compound in each returning team upon their arrival back through the Gate."

"Yeah . . .and . . . this isn't that or you would have caught it three days ago."

She shook her head. "No, Sir. It isn't. It's a derivative. A purer, more refined form of the same compound. Less of it was apparent in the blood than in its counterpart, and the breakdown is significantly different enough that the computer didn't recognize it as part of the tox-screen."

"Are you telling me she's a Za'tarc?"

"I see no evidence to explain it any other way, General."

"Ah, crap . . . "

"This is bad, I take it." Kerry looked between Jack and the doctor as she spoke. "I seem to recall reading a file about some instances a few years ago on base "

"You did?" Jack asked, cutting her off.

"Well, yes. There were some members of an SG team that were found to be these Za'tarcs, and also a Tok'ra named Martouf?"

Jack nodded, unsure whether he wanted to accept that was all that was in the report or not. "Yeah. Speaking of the Tok'ra . . . sounds like it's time to make a call to Anise-Freya and get her in here."

He pointed in the general direction of Doc Brightman's office in a silent request to use her phone, and the doctor nodded. With one quick and hopefully discreet glance in Sam's direction, Jack went to the office and dialed Gate Operations.

"This is the General," he said to the airman who picked up. "Dial through to all the current addresses with known Tok'ra bases. I need either Jacob Carter or Anise-slash-Freya. Actually, both if you can get them. When you make contact, you can reach me in the infirmary."

Jack hung up the phone, and leaned his knuckles onto the edge of the desk, taking a moment to close his eyes and try to absorb the new information. He slowly released a huff of air, letting it fill his cheeks before passing his lips. He didn't get it. According to all the Intel they had on the Za'tarc mind control, there hadn't ever been a reaction like this. Except when the controlee had failed and was trying to kill themselves. But Sam hadn't tried that . . . something wasn't Kosher.

For the second time that day his heart seized in his chest when Sam's scream ripped through the SGC. But this time it was different.

"Jack! Jack!"

His name – screamed with such terror – closed down on his heart like a vice. Jack ran back into the main infirmary room to find Sam bucking wildly against her restraints, with Doc Brightman and three other nurses trying to hold her down. She thrashed and screamed violently, her head twisting and rolling against the pillow.

"Jack! Noooooo!" she screamed again.

Jack pushed past the nurse closest to Sam's head and laid his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to turn towards him.

"Carter! Hey, I'm right here. I'm right here."

She stared at him, her eyes as round as blue saucers and her breath coming in violent, hot huffs against the inside of his wrists. Sam pulled again on the restraints at her wrists, and in his peripheral vision he could tell she tried to reach for him, and couldn't.

"Jack?"

"Yes. I'm here."

"They said you're dead." Her voice dropped so low he almost didn't hear her, and he leaned in closer. The nurses backed off, giving him space.

"Who, Carter? Who said I was dead?"

Tears welled in her eyes, making them shine, and her lips trembled. A wet trail escaped, running down her cheek to follow the crevice where his hand met her skin.

"Them. The voices. Jack . . . so many voices."

"They're wrong, Sam. Don't listen to them."

She pulled again at the wrist restraints, and Jack looked to the doctor. With a jerk of his eyes, he indicated she should release them. He saw in the woman's eyes she didn't think it was a good idea . . . but that was the benefit of wearing stars on his lapel. With her hands free, Sam reached up and curled her fingers around his wrists.

Jack stroked her cheek with his thumb, and the tension in her body seemed to ease away. Slowly, Sam reclined back onto the pillows and Jack let his hands leave her face. But as he tried to step back, she clutched his hand, holding it with both of hers as she turned onto her side to face him.

As quickly as she woke up, Sam fell back asleep, holding his hand.

Jack looked up. Doc Brightman stood on the other side of the bed, a puzzled look on her face. Kerry stood at the foot, an expression that he didn't want to even try to define in her eyes.

_Well, hell._


	7. Part 6

Too Strong Part 6 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"O'Neill . . . "

Jack's eyes snapped open, and he raised his arm from where it had rested over his eyes. He lifted his head off the pillow behind him and looked up at Teal'c where he stood between the two infirmary beds, then to the bed beside him.

It was empty.

His legs still hung off the side of the bed, and he vaguely recalled reclining back on the pillow some time around 2100 hours when Sam seemed to be resting for several hours straight.

"What time is it?"

"It is approaching the midnight hour."

Jack sat up, his back protesting the awkward sleeping position. "Where is she?"

"Doctor Brightman has moved Colonel Carter and the other infected personnel to private holding quarters."

"She was supposed to wake me up before they were moved."

"Doctor Brightman expressed her concern that you may not be resting sufficiently."

"For cryin' out loud," Jack mumbled as he hopped down from the bed. "When did you get back?"

"Not half an hour ago, O'Neill. I was most troubled to hear of the events that have occurred in my absence."

Jack scrubbed his face with his palms. "Do you know if we've heard from the Tok'ra?"

"All requests to contact the Tok'ra known as Anise have been unsuccessful. A message has been relayed to Jacob Carter and we have been notified he will be here within the next thirty-six hours."

Jack closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a slow breath. He felt powerless, and he hated feeling powerless. Especially when it came to his people_. Hell, who was he kidding? When it came to Sam._ Give him an enemy he could shoot, and put a gun in his hands. That's what he knew . . . that's what he was programmed for.

Not this _not knowing_ crap.

"So, you know what's going on?" Jack asked.

"Indeed. It must be most disconcerting to see Colonel Carter in such a state of diress."

"That's one way to put it," Jack mumbled against his hands as he scrubbed his face, trying to push away the sleep. "She won't let me get more than two feet away from her."

"It is only in your touch does Colonel Carter find peace."

Jack opened his eyes again and looked at the big man. "Did someone tell you that?

Teal'c arched one eyebrow, tilting his head. "As the Tauri would say, 'not in so many words' . . . "

Jack tried not to think too hard about what might already be said about the situation. He accepted a long time ago it didn't matter what he and Sam said or didn't say, did or didn't do, stories would be told. He'd worry about it later . . . when she was okay again. Right now he couldn't give a monkey's ass what Nurse Shea had to say.

"Walk with me, T," Jack said, heading to the door. If Sam had been asleep when they moved her, he wanted to be there when she woke up.

Teal'c fell into step with him and they walked together out of the infirmary. The halls of the SGC were quiet in the middle of the night, with none of the usual technicians and personnel roaming from place to place. They reached the nearest elevator and Jack patted his pockets, searching for his security id.

"Damn it," he muttered. Just as he found it in his back pocket, Teal'c swiped his own card and the elevator doors opened. "Thanks."

Teal'c bowed his head and they stepped aboard. Jack was more tired than he realized, and leaned his shoulder into the wall of the car.

"I bet Carter will be glad to see you," he said as the elevator moved with a low hum. "With Daniel being . . . not _here_ . . . and all."

"If my presence can be of any comfort, I will gladly do all that I can."

"Thanks, T."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Jack led the way down the hall towards the quarters where the effected members of SG-3, SG-5 and Sam had been moved. Everything sounded quiet, and Jack slowly released a breath. No screaming, no crying. Perhaps she was finally resting.

They rounded the final corner to the rooms, and Jack saw Doc Brightman speaking with one of the nurses. She looked up as he approached.

"I was about to come see you, General."

"Why didn't you wake me up when you moved her – them?"

"I thought you could use the rest."

"Excuse me, General," came a voice behind them, and the three of them stepped closer to the wall to allow an airman to push a large supply cart past them.

Jack glanced at the cart as it passed. It was way overloaded, and the kitchen supplies weren't stacked right. The airman was probably in a rush to get the job done and take a break, and right now worrying about how neat his trays were stacked wasn't Jack's concern. The cart veered to the left as he passed, and the kid fought to keep it straight. Jack arched his eyebrows, shook his head once, and turned back to the doctor.

"Where is Carter?"

Doc Brightman pointed with her pen to a closed door several feet behind her. "She's there, and she's resting now. It appears that once the sedatives took effect "

They heard the airman who had just passed curse loudly just before the entire supply cart toppled over with a resounding and thunderous crescendo of falling cafeteria trays and chaffing dishes.

Jack hissed. "Ooooh, not good."

"I'm sorry, Sir," the airman apologized, frantically trying to pick up the stainless steel trays and. "I'm so sorry. I'll – I'll get this picked up immediately, Sir!"

Jack raised his hand. "Just . . . try not to wake the dead next time, airman."

Lids and tongs still slipped from the cart's bins when a scream tore through the air from Sam's room.

"Nooooooo!"

One of the nurses burst through her door. "Doctor, come quickly!"

But Jack was already half way there, and pushed past the nurse into the room. He froze, quickly assessing the situation before him. Sam was free of the bed, standing on the far side of the room with her back to the wall and her hands spread flat against the gray concrete. Panic and desperation twisted her features as two nurses flanked her, trying to apprehend her.

She was yelling, screaming things he couldn't understand – things that made no sense – about it being her fault and that she didn't want to do it. She tried not to, but the voices . . . the voices wouldn't stop.

"Colonel Carter, stand down!" the doctor shouted, trying to approach her with an exposed syringe in her hand. "We are here to help you!"

Sam threw back her head so hard it bounced off the concrete wall, a rough, guttural scream ripping from her throat . . . and on that scream his name. "Jaaaack!"

_Fuck this . . ._

Jack shoved everyone out of the way that stood between him and Sam, and as he reached out to her, she turned away, covering her face with her arms.

"No!" she screamed. "Oh, God!"

"Carter . . ."

"God, he's dead!"

Sam slipped down the wall, landing hard on her knees, and before she hit the floor Jack was with her. He knelt in front of her and, just as he had in the infirmary hours before, took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him.

"Sam. Sam, look at me!"

Her entire body shook, sweat covering her skin and sticking her blonde hair to her forehead in dark streaks. Heavy lids hooded her eyes, and she seemed only half conscious. Jack stroked her cheeks, and moved his hands to her shoulders to shake her gently. 

"Sam!"

She blinked, her blue eyes focusing again on him. As their stares met, her lips trembled and her eyes welled with tears, a harsh quake shooting through her body. "Jack?"

"Yes," he said in a low voice, his chest so tight it hurt to breathe.

Sam sucked in several sharp breaths, shaking her head. She tried to pull away from him, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as she shook her head.

"Sam . . . "

"No!" she screamed, her eyes coming up to stare at him. "No! You're gone! You're gone!"

When he touched her again, she fought against him, swatting around her head as if a swarm of wasps attacked her. Jack was persistent, fighting back until he hand her wrists and yanked her towards him, bringing them face to face.

"Carter!"

She stilled, staring at him, her eyes shifting rapidly across his features. Her lips moved silently, as if she struggled to connect thoughts to words.

"I'm not gone. I'm here. I'm. Right. Here."

The tension slipped from her body like water from a bucket, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his throat. Jack didn't hesitate to pull her to him, figuring the health and well-being of a soldier under his command was more important than appearances at a time like this . . . right? _Right?_

"They don't scream so loud when you're here," Sam said softly, before she went limp in his arms.


	8. Part 7

Too Strong Part 7 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"I'm not leaving."

"General, this stress isn't good for you and I can't be convinced it's really doing Colonel Carter any benefit."

"Well, I'm no PhD, but how can you say it's _not?"_

"I concur with O'Neill. His presence calms Colonel Carter and allows her to think more clearly, obtaining the required rest her body needs."

Jack nodded emphatically and motioned towards Teal'c. "See?"

The three of them stood near the door of the temporary quarters, speaking in hushed tones, while Sam slept on the bed on the other side of the room. The doc's sedatives had quickly knocked out the other _patients,_ leaving only Sam to fight her demons. And Jack would be damned to hell before he left her to do it alone – especially if he could somehow help.

"Look, whatever they did to her is obviously different than the last time. And until we know what we're dealing with, I say we do whatever works. And right now, me hanging out here works."

Doc Brightman sighed. "All right. But you have to promise me, General O'Neill, that you will get some _sleep."_

"Yeah, sure . . . " he said, nodding his head. "No problem."

She shook her head and left the room, the click of her heels growing faint in the hall. As soon as he thought it was safe, he yawned so big his jaw ached and he scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Do you require that I stay and provide you with companionship, O'Neill?"

"Keep me company?"

"Is that not what I said?"

"Yeah, but the way you said it . . . never mind. I'm good. Go get some sleep, Teal'c. It's been a long night."

"If there is any way I may be of assistance "

"I know."

With a bow of his head, Teal'c left as well, closing the door behind him. The room was nearly in darkness except for a soft night light that came through the cracked bathroom door connected to the quarters. It was a standard guest quarters with a full size bed and other pieces of furniture and bright paintings on the wall. A contrast to the gray painted concrete and galvanized steel vents that ran the ceiling.

Sam lay quiet in the bed now, her back to him and her body curled on itself. At some point, she had been changed into the white infirmary pajamas that looked more like kung fu outfits. Jack walked to the bed, slipping off his BDU jacket as he went, and sat down on the side furthest from her. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Fighting the lead bags on his eyes, he looked around the room to figure out where to catch a few winks that he'd still be within quick range of Carter if she woke up. Right now, the short couch along the wall was looking good. Maybe if he slouched . . .

"Jack?"

He twisted on the bed and leaned over. "I'm right here."

Sam rolled towards him, the sheets and blankets rustling with her movement. Her face was partially shadowed by the various light sources in the room, making her look almost as if she were lit by candlelight, and she focused on him.

"How are you doing?"

"I still hear them."

He turned more, bringing his legs up onto the bed so he was partially reclined, resting on his elbow. Jack watched her for a moment, and took a slow breath before speaking.

"I'm going to get you help, Sam. I'll make sure they stop."

She turned onto her side so they lay facing each other, her beneath the blankets and he on top of them. Sam folded her hands beneath her cheek and focused on some indiscernible spot somewhere around the middle of his chest.

"Stay here with me."

"I told you I would."

Her eyes darted up and her gaze met his. "I mean it, Jack. You _have to_ stay here with me."

Jack squinted his eyes, focusing on her face in the dim light. "Why, Sam?"

"Because if you don't, they'll be right."

"Right about what?"

"That I'll kill you."

Her voice held a cold weight that chilled his skin. Whatever the voices said, whatever the Goa'uld had done to her, she was convinced of it. And Jack had no reason to doubt it.

"Shhhh," he said, smoothing his hand over her hair. "Get some sleep."

Her eyes closed almost immediately and she drew in the long, deep breath of someone just about ready to drift off into never, never land. Jack pulled at a pillow from the head of the bed and bunched it beneath his jaw so he could remain in his place, lying on his side, watching her sleep.

Some time later he managed to drift off, just after Sam's hand reached out and found his in the dark.

"Come on, Carter. Eat."

Sam sat at the head of the bed, her back against the pillow-padded oak headboard and her knees held against her chest. She rocked back and forth, her head tilted to the side, her eyes closed, and her hair mused.

Jack twisted the tines of his fork in the fettuccini on his plate. "Are you going to make me feed this to you?"

"I'm not crazy."

He shifted his attention from the rapidly cooling dinner, and looked directly into her now open eyes. Her lips pressed tightly together, and her body shook in small tremors even though a fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

"I don't think you're crazy."

"Like you didn't think I was crazy when I saw Orlin?"

"Carter "

"And you didn't think Jonas was crazy when he saw the trans-dimensional bugs?"

"Carter " he said again.

"Or when Daniel had Machello's Goa'uld Killers in his head?"

Jack set the fork down on the plate, giving up on getting any food into her, and pushed the dinner cart aside. He moved from his chair beside the bed to sit near her feet, resting his hand on her bent knee.

The trembling eased, but didn't stop completely.

"Jeez, Carter, I may be thick but I do _get it_ eventually. I don't think you're crazy. I swear."

She raised one hand, holding it out to him, a strained and faint smile on her lips. "Pinky swear?"

Jack couldn't help but grin. It was possibly the first sign in two days that maybe Sam, _his_ Sam, was still somewhere in there and could still appreciate his juvenile tendencies.

He curled his pinky finger around hers. "Pinky swear."

There was a knock at the door. Jack shouted for them to come in, and after the slide and click of the security pass in the lock, it opened and Walter stuck his head inside.

"General, we've received word that Jacob Carter and the Tok'ra Anise will be arriving together within the next five minutes. I thought you might want to be in the Gate Room when they arrived."

"No!" Sam's fingers dug into his upper arm, her other hand grabbing a fist full of tee shirt. "No!" she demanded again.

Jack waved Walter out of the room, hoping he got the message _If I'm not there in five, open the Gate without me . . .._

"Sam, Anise is here to fix this. I'll just be "

"No! You promised!"

"I promised I was going to fix this."

"No!" she screamed again, and launched up to her feet. She stepped over him, hopped to the end of the bed, and jumped clear – running to the door before he even thought about reaching for her.

Jack came off the bed, rounding the end to see her plaster her body against the door and security lock. She glared at him with fiery eyes, daring him to move her.

Instead, Jack walked calmly to her. _Hell, he didn't want to see - What had Janet called her? Tok'ra Spice!_

"Carter, can you tell me what will happen to me if I leave?"

She shook her head violently, her body shaking. A muscle jumped along her jaw as she ground her teeth together.

"What will happen, Carter?"

"You'll die!" she spat.

Sam was shaking so hard now, she could barely stand upright. She drew sharp breaths through her nose, huffing them out her mouth with such force her cheeks billowed, and she stared at him from beneath a deeply drawn brow. He could all but see the war behind her eyes.

Jack closed the space between them and laid his hands on her cheeks, letting his fingertips lace into her hair. She whimpered softly, and her body went partially limp against the wall, her eyelids fluttering.

"Carter, look at me. Look. At. Me."

She did, and he waited until he felt the trembling ease a little and the panicked frenzy behind her eyes abated. "Sam, please. Try and tell me. Did you do something on the base?"

Her eyes immediately welled with tears and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Yes?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Can you tell me what you did, Sam? Try . . . try and tell me what you did."

Her hands came away from the wall and she curled her fingers into his tee shirt until the material bunched in her tight fists. Tears rolled from her eyes and she breathed so hard, he was afraid she would hyperventilate. But she never looked away from his face.

Her mouth opened, her lips moved as if she tried to form words, but nothing came. Finally, she half moaned/half screamed and slammed her head back against the door.

"They won't let me!"

"Okay, okay." Jack pulled her back from the door, sliding his hand along her hair to quickly make sure she hadn't split her head open. "Sam . . . " Her eyes were closed again and she rolled her head from side to side, a low mewling sound in the back of her throat. "Sam! Look at me!"

Obediently, she blinked and again met his gaze, her eyes shining bright with tears. This was tearing her apart from the inside out. This one time, the Tok'ra damn well better come through or so help him . . .

"Sam, can you tell me . . . can anyone else get hurt? Or is it just me?"

She jerked away from him and fled to the other side of the room, flinging herself against the far wall with such force that she bounced, and slipped to the floor in a crumpled heap. Jack followed, and mindful of his knees, braces his back against the concrete and slid down to sit beside her.

"C'mere . . ."

She let him pull her against his chest and she practically crawled into his lap, burying her head against his chest as she cried. Jack smoothed her hair and rubbed his hand over the soft cotton of her infirmary suit – up and down her spine again and again.

After several minutes he heard her muffled whisper.

"What?"

"Just for you," she said against his chest. "It's just meant for you."

"Okay," he said against her crown. "Okay."

He heard the slide and click of a passkey in the lock, and the door opened to reveal Doc Brightman, Jacob Carter and Anise/Freya. _Didn't anyone ever tell her leather went out in the 80's? _

"What the hell?" Jacob declared, and Anise stared with wide eyes.

Sam whimpered and crawled further into his lap, drawing as much of his tee shirt around her face as she could – like a bashful child.

"Could you give us a few?"


	9. Part 8

Too Strong Part 8 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Jack hated waiting.

Always had.

Always would.

Especially when it came to the important things . . . the important _people_ in his life.

Like Sam.

Within weeks, she would be legally bound to another man. She'd be Mrs. Pete Shanahan. Or Samantha Carter-Shanahan . . . or whatever she had decided to do. Either way, she would be his and he would be hers . . . yada yada yada.

It didn't change the fact that Jack would do anything for her. He had accepted it as a shortfall in his military make-up, oh, about four years ago. Ironically, over a damn Za'tarc thing.

Course, back then the threat to him and Sam hadn't been real. The biggest threat had been themselves . . .

Now, today, the threat was very real.

And it scared the _crap_ right out of him.

Anise/Freya/Tok'ra Spice had arrived seven hours ago and once again they were approaching midnight. Jack felt like this nightmare had been going on for days. She had been with the other SG members the Doc had marked as infected, and he and Sam waited for her to come back.

Well, he waited. Thankfully, Sam slept.

In the last several hours, her frayed hold on reality had grown weaker and her desperate need for him overwhelmingly intense. It was so bad now, he barely dared take two minutes to sneak into the head. In that short period of time, he would come back to a trembling, sweating, near hysterical Sam Carter who would immediately burrow against him – clinging and hanging on until the _voices_ edged away.

Even now, he lay half-reclined on the bed, his upper body back against the headboard with the pillows as support and his legs stretched out in front of him. She was curled against him, using his stomach as her pillow with one leg tossed over his. He had one hand behind his head, the other absently stroking her hair as he stared off into the dark room.

And waited.

The lock clicked and the door opened, and Jack immediately brought a finger to his lips. Sam stirred, but didn't wake, as the same three visitors from earlier in the evening came into the room. Jacob shot him a none-too-happy glare at their current position, but just like his opinion about everyone else – Jack didn't really care right now.

This was what she needed.

And she damn well was going to have it.

If she needed some strange alien spice from some giant bug infected planted three galaxies away – she'd have it.

If she needed the last drop of his blood . . . she'd have it.

"So?"

"In the last four years I have perfected the technology involved in reversing the Za'tarc effects, and despite the refinement of the drugs used, the treatment was completely successful on the other members of your team," Anise said, stepping to the foot of the bed.

"So, you haven't seen this new drug, either?" Jack asked.

"No, we haven't," Jacob answered. "And we sure as hell would like to know who did this. Unfortunately, although the treatment reversed the effects it also removed any memory the other members had of who may have done this."

"Okay. So, now you do Carter?"

"I am afraid that I have some unfortunate news in regards to Colonel Carter's condition."

Jack looked from Anise to Jacob to Doc Brightman, and back to Anise. "What?"

The Tok'ra drew a long breath before speaking. "We have never seen a reaction to the Za'tarc mind control similar to the one we are seeing in Colonel Carter."

"And what does that mean? Exactly?"

"We believe that this intense reaction is because the command planted in Colonel Carter's mind is one that so radically contradicts her own thoughts and feelings, that her subconscious is actively and violently fighting the control."

"The command to kill you, Jack."

Jack looked to Jacob when he spoke, and saw something in the man's eyes he wasn't sure he knew how to define. Understanding? Maybe? He didn't know.

"So, she's just fighting the command . . . "

"It's more than that, General O'Neill. Colonel Carter is virtually fighting a battle within her own psyche. The command that has been planted is telling her to either complete the task – to kill you – or to end her own life if she fails. Her subconscious is stronger than that command, demanding that she not let it happen. She has successfully managed to prevent your death, yet she has this overpowering _voice _or thought that is repeatedly telling her to either do it, or die. Her need for your physical proximity is, most likely, a concrete stabilization for her subconscious – assuring her that you are still alive and that she has not failed. We have never witnessed, or even imagined the possibility of a mind so strong that it could withstand the programming with such verocity. It would truly be an amazing phenomenon to study further "

"Excuse me?" Jack spat out, cutting Anise off.

"I am merely stating that with such a rare and unique situation, further study could be justified as warranted."

"Jacob " Jack said in warning.

Jacob raised his hand. "We've already had this discussion, and it's _not_ happening. We're here to fix this, and _not_ turn Sam into a lab experiment."

Jack glared at Anise, "Thank you very much."

Anise sighed. "General O'Neill, I assure you my interest is purely scientific. No one has ever shown even the slightest resistance to the Za'tarc programming, let alone attempted to fight it to the degree in which Colonel Carter in demonstrating. To be able to document examples where an individuals mind is potentially stronger than the will of the programmer is truly a fascinating possibility. I meant no disrespect, and promise you I will do anything in my power to help."

Jack looked down at Sam as she slept. He could still see the bruises and scratches she had left on her own body as she slammed herself against walls and furniture, and clawed at her own skin. He felt the bump on her skull whenever he ran his hand over her hair just right.

_Punishment_

"So, you're saying she's winning?"

"Yes, but barely. And at a severe price. As we all can see," Doc Brightman answered.

Jack swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and kept his gaze on Sam as he spoke. "She tried to tell me earlier what she did . . . what would kill me. But she couldn't. She said _they_ wouldn't let her."

"That is probably very much the way it seems to her. Voices and other entities commanding her – driving her to the point of either allowing the plan to follow through, or to end her life. Thus, in all likelihood, ending in your death when the source of her sabotage is never found," Anise explained.

"You can't fix this the same way you did the others?"

"I will be happy to make the attempt, but I am not hopeful in its success. I fear that because Colonel Carter is so adamantly fighting the mind control, her subconscious will also fight the attempts at relieving that control."

If he could have, Jack would have punched something.

"So, what do we do?"

"We force Sam to break through completely. We push . . . hard . . . harder and further than we want to. But we have to make _her_ break the ties. When she does, she'll be free." Jacob attempted a smile. "By _we,_ Jack, I mean you."


	10. Part 9

Too Strong Part 9 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Jack sat in the chair beside Sam's bed, hunched forward with his fingers laced and his elbows on his knees. He bounced his right leg off the ball of his foot, his gut twisting and turning.

He knew what he had to do. Anise and the Doc had told him last night. It was all up to him. The ball was in his court . . . yada yada yada.

It sucked.

He raised his head and looked at Sam. She was asleep at the moment, restless and on the verge of waking again. Almost time to get this started.

_Damn, this sucked_

He waited until she rolled onto her back and blinked her eyes. When he knew she was awake enough to know where he was and what he was doing, Jack stood and headed for the door.

"Jack?" she called after him.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, his hand resting on the footboard. He didn't want to look at her, because if he did, he didn't know if he could do it. But he turned his head and met her unsteady gaze. "I'm leaving, Carter."

"No!" She sat up and rolled onto her knees, coming to the end of the bed and Jack had to step back to escape the reach of her hands. "No, you can't."

With purpose and strength he was amazed he still possessed, Jack reached into his pocket and took out his security badge as he walked to the door. "Unless you tell me right now how and when I'm gonna die – I'm outta here, Carter. I can't stay in here babysitting you forever."

_Damn, this sucked!_

His mouth tasted like crap, like the words themselves left an aftertaste.

She scrambled off the bed and managed to push between him and the security lock before he could insert his pass, pressing her hands against his chest.

"No, Jack! Please!"

He focused for a moment on the hinge of the door. The gray paint had chipped away to reveal the black metal beneath. Drawing a slow breath in through his nose, he turned his head and looked down at her. Jack spoke in a low, even tone.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Tell me or I'm leaving."

"Jack "

"Tell me, Carter!"

She suddenly clutched her head, a scream tearing from her throat, and then she shoved him back with strength that surprised him after three days of barely eating. But Jack kept his balance and twisted them around until he sandwiched her between him and the wall. Their huffed breaths mingled in the space between them.

"Tell me, Carter. NOW! That's an order!"

She screamed again, her hands flailing and her head rolling from side to side. Jack's heart pounded in his own chest, and he fought the urge to just wrap her in his arms and ease the torment. But he knew he had to do the opposite. Push her until it was unbearable. She was strong, she would break through.

She was Sam.

His Sam.

Jack clenched his teeth and pushed her aside, striding again to the door. Sam scurried on her hands and knees after him, her fists curling into his pant legs as he set his passkey to the lock.

"Jack, please!" she sobbed.

His own eyes burned hot, and he slid the plastic card down the slot. The lock disengaged and he pushed down on the door handle_. This isn't working, damn it! It isn't working!_

"Explosion!" Sam screamed as he pulled open the door.

He let go of the door and dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her upright with his hands on her upper arms. "An explosion? Sam, say it again . . . "

She nodded, her face slick with tears and her body shaking violently. "E-explosion. A b-bomb."

"Where . . ."

Sam shook her head, slamming her fists against her skull. "Shut up! Shut up!"

"Sam, where is the explosion? You can do this! You are stronger than the voices. You are louder, Sam."

She was sobbing and fighting to breathe, her body supported only by his hold. "I'm not, Jack. I did what they told me to."

"No, Sam. You didn't. You didn't let me die. But if you don't tell me, _right now,_ I'm going to leave and I'm going to die. Don't fail me, Sam. Don't fail me!"

She shook her head slowly, her eyes closed. "I can't fail you."

"You will, Sam. You will fail me if you don't tell me. _This time_ I will go, and I _won't_ come back. Keeping me here is killing me, Sam. Do you hear me? Keeping me here is killing me!"

"No! You'll die if you leave!"

"I'll die if I stay!"

She slumped back against the wall, and Jack released her arms. He pushed his hand against the floor to stand, but she lunged forward and wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling at his shirt and shoulders until he came back down with her.

He saw in her eyes, the pain that twisted her features, that she fought to push the words forward. She wanted desperately to tell him. Jack held his breath, waiting.

"Ele-elevator," she finally hissed through clenched teeth.

"An explosion in the elevator?"

She nodded and released a huff of air.

"How? How is it set for just me?"

Sam dug at his hands until she pulled the security tag free of his fingers.

Jack knew they were being watched, and he figured that right about then Siler had a team heading for the main elevator to take care of the problem. But Sam wasn't Sam yet . . . not by a long shot.

"Sam, who did this to you?"

Her eyes rounded, as if she had suddenly seen the most frightening thing in the world, and she pushed back against the wall. Jack tried to turn her to face him, but she fought against his hold.

"Sam, look at me. Who did this to you!"

"Can't."

"Yes, you can! You told me what you did, you can tell me this! Who did this to you?" _So I can blow up his sorry ass!_

Jack scooted closer to her, sitting on the floor so he could be as near to her as possible, and took her face in his hands as he had done so many times in the last few days to bring her back to reality.

"Sam, tell me his name and you'll be free . . . I promise."

Her breath hitched and her hands came up to rest on his chest. Jack imagined she had to feel the intense pounding of his own heart beneath her fingers. He was going to hunt the bastard down and teach him about pain and suffering . . . slowly . . . very, very slowly.

"Promise?"

"Yes, Sam. I promise." He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Her relaxed touch turned into tight fists, bunching his tee shirt between her fingers. Sam tried to bang her head back against the wall, but Jack held her firm.

"Tell me, Sam."

The muscles along her jaw jumped, her lips whitened with the strain as her body and mind fought with each other to speak. "Camulus."

As soon as the name passed her lips, her entire body relaxed. The grip on his shirt eased, and her head fell heavy in his hands. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Jack's heart stopped.

"Sam? Sam!"

She blinked, her blue gaze focusing on him. "Sir?"

He smiled. "Yeah."

"The voices are gone . . . "

Jack blinked hard against the hot moisture in his eyes, because he'd be damned if he'd call them tears, and leaned forward to press his lips against her damp forehead. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists, her thumbs rubbing over his skin.

"Thank God," he whispered.


	11. Part 10

Too Strong Part 10 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

Jack tried to focus on the report in front of him, but his head was six floors up in the infirmary . . . where Sam had been moved back to the morning before.

Doc Brightman had reported first thing this AM that she had slept through the night without incident, and that all her chemical whatever and brain wave readings were back to normal. Sam was drained, physically, and it would take a day or two for her to rebuild her strength. Time for her self-inflicted wounds to heal.

But she was back.

So, why did he feel like crap?

In his _career,_ he had certainly done worse things than trick a fellow comrade into thinking a lie was the truth to get what he needed. Hell, he had even done it to Sam more than once, when ordered to. But this . . . this had left a bad taste in the back of his throat since yesterday afternoon. Like he had vomited and forgot to rinse out his mouth.

Jack tossed his pen across the top of his desk and pushed back, coming to his feet. He'd just go for a walk . . . wander the base for awhile . . . and should he just happen to end up on Level 21, well, he'd just stop in and see how she was doing. Yeah, that sounded good.

Sam opened her eyes when she heard the scrape of metal chair legs pulled across the concrete floor towards her bed. She was on her side, her hands folded beneath her chin, and smiled when Jack sat down bringing himself eye level with her.

"Hey," he said with a lopsided smile.

"Hi," she whispered. Her throat was still raw and sore from her screaming and overall abuse over the last few days.

Jack retrieved the cup of iced cranberry juice that sat on her bedside table and held the straw up to her lips. Sam lifted her head enough to draw in some of the cool, refreshing liquid then laid her head back down.

"Thank you."

"How you feeling?"

"More tired than I can remember being in a long, long time."

"Not even after that week on P4X-2 . . . 23-"

"239. No, sir. This beats that week, hands down."

"Well, another couple of days and you'll be fine."

Sam sighed and smiled. She was already bored half out of her mind, but was honestly too tired to push the doctor to let her go. Right now, just lying here sounded very, very good.

"My father left this morning . . ." she said after a few moments.

"Yeah, but he said he's coming back next week. Something about a meeting you set up that you needed to talk to me about?"

Sam shook her head against the pillow. "Not today."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "Okay. Whenever. You know where I am."

Sam focused on Jack's face, and noticed the way he wouldn't quite meet her gaze. He fidgeted with his hands, his left leg bouncing on the ball of his foot. She reached out, and he immediately turned his hand so their palms slid together and wrapped his large, strong fingers around hers.

"You did what you had to do, Sir. If it hadn't been for what you said – what you did – I don't think I would have made it back." Thick emotion choked her and she tightened her hold.

Jack shifted forward, enveloping her hand between both of his.

"I hated it."

"I know."

He did meet her stare then, and her breath caught at the dark intensity behind his eyes. "Do you remember?"

"The last few days?" Sam nodded. "Every minute. I think I'll be having nightmares about those voices for the rest of my life."

She saw the flash of anger as a muscle jump along his jaw.

"But, Jack. More than the voices and the terror, I remember you. I remember you keeping them away. I remember you fighting for me. And when the nightmares come, that's what I'll remember the most."

Jack's gaze shifted from her eyes, settling momentarily in the vicinity of her lips, before he looked away completely. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles, then bent forward and rested his forehead on their joined hands.

"General?"

Jack sat up, but didn't release her hands quickly like she expected. Instead, he slowly let his hands slip free from hers and he leaned back. "Yeah, Walter?"

"There's a phone call for you, Sir." He looked from Jack to Sam. "It's a Peter Shanahan, Sir. He's rather angry, and demanding to speak to you. He says he has left several messages for Colonel Carter and has heard nothing, and wants to know what is going on."

"No one called him?" Sam asked.

"I was busy," Jack said in simple answer.

"Sir . . . "

"I'll take care of it, Walter."

"I should talk to him," Sam said, shifting to sit up.

Jack stood, his hand firmly on her shoulder. "You'll do no such thing. Rest. I'll talk to him." He squeezed her shoulder gently, his hand sliding down her arm to apply another gently squeeze to her fingers, before leaving the infirmary with Walter.

Sam rolled her head on the pillow, closing her eyes tight against the burning tears behind them. But every time she closed her eyes, she remembered . . .

Not the slithering, whispering voices that demanded she do things her heart just would not allow. Not the terror that chilled her blood and drove her to the point of insanity.

She remembered his touch. The way he smoothed her hair and caressed her cheek until the voices were mere faint whispers in the shadows. The way he never hesitated to take her in his arms. Sleeping with her cheek on his chest . . . slipping into rest to the gently, steady lub-lub-lullaby of his heart.

Sam threw her arm over her eyes to disguise the tears from anyone who walked by.


	12. Part 11 finale

Too Strong Part 11 of 11 – Conclusion

Disclaimer: See Original Post

_Five weeks later_

_Jack's Pond – Minnesota_

_2130 hours_

Jack woke with a start, half way off the couch before his eyes were even open. He threw off the light blanket he had been using as a cover, and scanned the dark common room of the cabin.

The fire had dwindled in the fieldstone hearth, only small flames licking at the hickory and the embers glowed red. But the night wasn't that cold to need a roaring fire. Daniel lay on the braided rug closest to the stones, his sleeping back tucked under his chin, snoring loudly. Teal'c was lying prone near the far wall, his hands folded over his chest and his eyes closed.

Jack yawned and scratched his scalp. He could have sworn he heard something, but figured it was too many years of going off world deeply engrained into his head. This time of night usually was his watch. He stood up and tossed the blanket back on the couch, walking barefoot to the kitchen in his tee shirt and boxer shorts.

Then he stopped, listening again. This time he _knew_ he had heard something. Jack turned towards the closed door that led to the only bedroom in the cabin, and padded carefully across the wooden plank floor. He leaned towards the door, listening.

"Sam?" he whispered as loudly as he dared.

He heard her hitch her breath and sniffle, then clear her throat. "Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Not quite believing her, he carefully turned the knob and cracked the door open. Sam was sitting at the head of the bed with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Moonlight streamed in through the open curtains to highlight her face and let him see the wet streaks on her cheeks.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

Jack huffed and closed the bedroom door, walking to his bed. She followed him with her eyes, her chin hitching up as he drew closer. He sat down at her feet, putting his hand on her bare knees.

"Sam "

"I had a nightmare," she finally admitted.

He didn't have to ask about what. He knew. In the last five weeks, he knew exactly what nights she had suffered with them even when she didn't tell him. He saw it in the shadows beneath her eyes and the way she looked at him across the room.

_At least tonight he could do something about it._

He stood and threw back the blankets. "Scoot over."

She didn't even look surprised as she shifted down into the bed and onto the other side. Jack crawled beneath the covers and pulled the sheets and quilt over both of them. He turned towards her, stretching out on his side, and fluffed the pillow beneath his head.

"C'mere."

Sam came back into his waiting arms, her back against his chest and her head on his upper arm like a pillow. Jack wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling his face against her shoulder.

"Go to sleep. I'll keep the dreams away."

Sam turned her head and looked up at him, a bright smile on her lips. She reached up her hand and laid her palm against his cheek, urging him to move closer. He willingly complied and pressed his lips against hers, every nerve and muscle immediately responding to the touch of Sam Carter's mouth beneath his.

Her lips parted, and he allowed himself one sweet moment of temptation as his tongue slid along hers and her soft moan reverberated through him.

Then they broke apart, both knowing that was where it stopped.

_For now . . . damn it!_

Jack curled his arm up to brush the hair away from her forehead with this thumb. She still watched him, her blue eyes dark in the moonlight.

"What?"

Sam smiled. "Nothing. Sometimes I just can't believe you're here . . . that we're finally . . . "

"That we both wised up?"

She smiled wider. "Yeah, something like that."

He kissed her temple. "Go to sleep."

Sam shifted and settled against him, and Jack drew the blankets up around her shoulders to keep her warm. Then he found her waist again beneath the blankets and closed his eyes.

_Finally . . . a decent night's sleep!_

_Fourteen Months Later_

_0212 hours_

_Cheyenne Mountain Complex_

"Welcome back to the Mountain, Jack. It's good to see you."

Jack accepted the firm handshake of his long time friend and now commander of the SGC, General Hank Landry. "Thanks, Hank. Good to be here. Everyone treating you okay?"

"Oh, sure. I think they miss you, Jack . . . not that anyone will admit to it."

Jack smiled and followed Hank through the halls of the SGC, and a melancholy feeling of being _home_ washed over him. Had it really been a year since he'd left Colorado full time? Oh, sure . . . he still knew everything that went on here. He had to as Head of the Department of Homeworld Security and overseeing all things Stargate related. But it wasn't like being _here._

Just like being General of the SGC had been different than being the commander of SG-1.

But, you live . . . you learn . . . you move on to bigger and better things.

"How are things in DC?"

"Beaurocratic, Hank."

Hank laughed. "Don't I know it. I did my stint at the Pentagon, but you know that. I like it here."

"Yeah, I always did, too. Better _out there_, but if not there, then here."

"The misses come with you?"

Jack shook his head, an uncontrollable grin tugging at his lips. _That would just never get old._ "No. She doesn't know I'm here. Or why. So, I'd appreciate it if we kept this between us."

"No problem, Jack. As far as I'm concerned, you're not even here."

They reached the section of the SGC that had been Jack's goal since he stepped through the first check point. The holding cells. He drew a slow, calming breath.

"He was a mess when we found him. Course, he was abandoned by his Jaffa over a year ago, those that were left after Ba'al kicked his ass. With no followers and no grunts, he's been wasting away on some god-forsaken planet planning his revenge."

"His last attempt failed," Jack said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I heard."

"So, he serves no purpose."

"Not really. He's a wasted, dried up, useless _god_ with no followers."

Hank stopped in front of one of the security cells, and put a blank passkey in Jack's hand. "Give me ten minutes, then you can go in."

Jack nodded. As Hank moved to walk away, Jack grabbed his arm. "Hank . . . "

His friend patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Jack. I know what he did. You do what you have to do."

Hank left him alone in the hall. Jack waited eleven-point-five seconds before he slid the passkey through the lock and opened the door. The lights were on inside the cell, usually to make sure the prisoners could be more easily watched at all times.

_Tonight that didn't matter . . ._

Jack glanced up to the video camera in the corner of the cell. The red indicator light that usually showed the camera was recording was out. _Thank you, Hank._

The man on the bed rolled over, his haggard and drawn face accentuated by the unforgiving fluorescent lights overhead. When he saw Jack, he sat up, his legs coming off the side of the cot to rest on the floor. In that moment, Jack saw the flash of recognition – and acquiescence – in the former System Lord's eyes.

_Time to Pay the Piper . . ._

"Hello, Camulus."


End file.
